They were not far north of the Canary Islands, when the sky, which for
several days had been overcast, grew very threatening, and the _Mere
Honour_, the _Cygnet_, the _Marigold_, and the _Star_ made ready to meet
what fury the Lord should be pleased to loose upon them. It came, a
maniac unchained, and scattered the ships. Darkness accompanied it, and
the sea wrinkled beneath its feet. The ships went here and went there;
throughout the night they burned lights, and fired many great pieces of
ordnance,--not to prevail against their enemy, but to say each to the
other: "Here am I, my sister! Go not too far, come not too near!" Their
voices were as whispers to the shouting of their foe; beneath the
rolling thunders the sound of cannon and culverin were of less account
than the grating of pebbles in a furious surge.

Day came and the storm continued, but with night the wind fell and
quiet possessed the deep. The sea subsided, and just before dawn the
clouds broke, showing a waning moon. Below it suddenly sprang out two
lights, one above the other, and to the _Cygnet_, safe, though with her
plumage sadly ruffled, came the sound of a gun twice fired.

The darkness faded, the gray light strengthened, and showed to the
watchers upon the _Cygnet's_ decks the ship in distress. It was Baldry's
ship, the little _Star_. She lay rolling heavily in the heavy sea, her
masts gone, her boats swept away, her poop low in the water, her
beak-head high, sinking by the stern. Her lights yet burned, ghastly in
the dawning; her people, a black swarm upon her forecastle, lay
clinging, devouring with their eyes the _Cygnet's_ boats coming for
their deliverance across the gray waste. Of the _Mere Honour_ and the
_Marigold_ nothing was to be seen.